Chosen
by Queen Edmund Pevensie
Summary: Advent Calendar 2017. Anakin Skywalker is dead. He is finally at peace. (Four snippets about Darth Vader not being at peace.)
1. Legends

Tatooine's deserts breed legends, and Luke will grow up on the same legends as Anakin did. But Luke will grow up free, and Owen hopes that will make the difference.

* * *

When Obi-Wan called, it was dinner time. Owen had never met Obi-Wan Kenobi, but Anakin had mentioned him, the one or two times he came around after his mother passed. His hologram lit up the homestead in a sad, blue, flickering light, and his voice broke when he told Owen and Beru the news.

"Anakin and his wife are dead," he said quietly. "We need to hide their children. Would you…Can you take his son?"

"Dead?" Beru gasped, covering her mouth.

"I'm asking a lot," Obi-Wan continued. "The Empire will be looking for him. But he must be kept safe."

"Why don't you do it?" Owen asked. A pang of anger somewhere near his heart. Anakin – _dead._ Shmi had been sure that he would come save Tatooine. She had told him every day.

Obi-Wan faltered. "It would be too dangerous," Obi-Wan answered.

"What's his name?" Beru asked quietly.

"Luke."

Beru smiled. "Luke." She turned to Owen. "We'll take him. Give him a good life." _For Anakin._

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said. "Anakin would…Anakin would feel good, knowing his family was taking care of his son."

Beru waited for Obi-Wan. Owen watched the suns set. Nervous. They had to accept Luke. What else could they do? No home, no family. Only a sister on the other end of the galaxy it was too dangerous to know. And Beru smiled at him, sadly. "I _want_ to take him," Beru insisted. "It will be good to have a son."

 _Anakin's son._

Something heavy and final settled into Owen's heart when Obi-Wan finally disconnected. Obi-Wan had told them what happened to Anakin –or Owen had got it out of him eventually. Owen felt numb now. What Anakin had done, and what happened to him, to Padmé, to their children. Owen barely knew Anakin. When he had come to visit his mother's grave, he was quiet, serious, radiant. And he was kind. Wanted to help Beru and Owen around the homestead. Anakin had said that he'd be a farmer if he wasn't a Jedi. Owen had liked him. He couldn't believe he was gone. Dead.

Worse than dead.

Obi-Wan placed Luke into Beru's arms and Owen watched as shadows fell over Obi-Wan cloaked face. A glint of downy blonde hair from the infant in his wife's arms. Beru walked over to where Owen was waiting. Blue eyes peered back at him curiously. "Luke," Beru whispered. "Meet your Uncle Owen."

* * *

One fuzzy channel on Tatooine reported the fall of the Republic that night. It would be a long time until any changes were felt on Tatooine. The boy would be safe on Tatooine. Beru switched to a channel showing Senator Amidala's funeral. "How terrible," she murmured to herself. "This whole thing is just terrible." Owen switched it off.

Luke slept now in the room that once belonged to him. Anakin slept there, too, once or twice. Luke brought with him nothing but a name and his father's face. He inherited Anakin's home, Anakin's genes, Anakin's teacher. Obi-Wan wanted to stay on Tatooine, wanted to stay to teach Luke about the Force. It didn't do Anakin any good, and Owen, still shocked, suddenly protective of his nephew, couldn't imagine a future where Luke –who looked at everything inside with curiosity and wonder, but without any fear –becoming the sad, scared young man like his father. The Force, the legends told, did nothing but mess up the lives of those who could use it. Owen was one of the few who on Tatooine had met a Jedi. And Anakin had died. The Force destroyed him, from the inside out. The Force kept them alive on Tatooine, but at a great cost. It would be no life for Luke, if Owen had anything to do with it.

For now, Luke slept. No need to worry about any of that now. He was too young to train, too young to worry about the Force. When – _if_ –the time came Owen and Beru would handle it. They would tell him about his father –the man they knew, and not the Jedi who destroyed the Republic. No Jedi or slavers to hold Luke back.

Still, Obi-Wan was insistent. "Please," he said. "I must train him, when the time comes."

"That will be for us to decide," Owen told him. Now that Luke was in his arms, the child was his. His to protect, his to love.

"He must," Obi-Wan asserted. His eyes were burning with something more than anger. More than fear. Something like love. "He's going to be the one to save us."

"That's what you said about Anakin," Owen reminded him. "That's no kind of pressure for a child." The door slicked shut in Obi-Wan's face, and Owen's heart felt heavy, but there was no doubt left in Owen's heart that he was right; all Anakin's life he was told he'd save the galaxy or Tatooine, and look what happened.

* * *

Luke will grow up hearing the same legends as his father, but unlike Anakin, he will not become one. All Owen wants for his nephew –and it feels right to call Luke that, even if he barely knew Anakin, even if Shmi was only his stepmother for a short time –is to be a normal boy. He will know the kind young man Anakin was, the warm, loving woman his grandmother was. How much Anakin loved Shmi, and how much Shmi loved all of them.

Before Owen and Beru go to bed they go and watch Luke sleep for a while. He's almost glowing in the setting suns glinting through the windows of Luke's room. He's sleeping in the crib that he had made for Beru last year, when they had thought she was pregnant. The excitement he had felt then, was nothing to the palpable joy he felt now, looking at his stepbrother's son, sleeping peacefully.

"Maybe Obi-Wan's right," Beru says softly, running a hand over Luke's golden-soft hair. The child doesn't stir. "Maybe he will save us all."

Owen doesn't want to agree. Something in his heart tightens at the thought. "I don't want that for him," Owen says gruffly, bending down to press a kiss to Luke's newborn head. He's only a few days old and he's already lost so much. His mother, his father. A safe future. And though Owen doesn't want to, he can't help but imagine what Luke would give to the galaxy. Freedom. Safety. What he's given to Owen and Beru already.

Luke will save the galaxy. Owen is sure. But he's sure that he'll have to die first, before he lets Obi-Wan or any remnants of the Jedi anywhere near him.

* * *

 **A/N: Welcome to Advent 2017. Theme for this week is "Hope." Have a good Christmas season and I'll see you next Saturday when the next Chapter of Sky-Walker will be posted, and on Sunday when the next chapter of THIS will be posted.**


	2. Attachment

**A/N: The prompt is love for this week. I upped the rating for some PG13 sex but it's not guys. It's just love. See the end of the chapter for more notes about why the chapters are out of order.**

* * *

Padmé says at the beginning that this could destroy them.

Anakin says that it would be worth it. A moment with her is better than a lifetime without her.

They both pray that someday the war will be over, and then they can leave Coruscant and start a family. For now, they live in secret.

On their wedding day, the last thing on their mind was how hard it would be to be married, especially married in secret. The only thing that they could think about was each other. Anakin's new hand cool and uncertain against Padmé's back, the smell of her hair surrounding Anakin until there was nothing but Padmé in the whole galaxy. Her skin, her lips, her eyes. And for a few hours, Padmé let herself be as consumed by her love for Anakin as he was in her love for her. He, peeking shyly out at her from under his long, blond eyelashes, trying to hide the way he was blushing when she kissed him. How lean and strong his legs were, how he gripped her hair, how he was a work of art of a creature, his jaw, his eyes, his teeth, how he admired her like she was the angel he thought she was all those years ago. They smile for a few hours, and when the morning comes, Padmé's smile vanishes and she sighs. This, she knows, cannot last, cannot be how it is going to be forever. The war has started, and Anakin is a Jedi, Padmé a senator. They would be dragged into this war separately, if they were not already together.

Padmé turns to him. He is sleeping peacefully next to her, a hint of a smile playing across his lips. He confessed to Padmé that he has not slept peacefully in months, since the visions of his mother started, since before that. The dark bags under his eyes get only darker day by day. But now, right now, he sleeps next to her, smiling. She waits until he wakes to ruin their honeymoon.

"Ani," she sighs once they're both dressed and out in the morning sun, having breakfast. It should be the perfect moment. It _is_ the perfect moment. "What are we thinking?"

"I…" Anakin stammers, staring up at the sun over the lake. "I'm thinking that I love you and I want to be with you. Forever." He turns to her, his eyes smoldering with something hot, something too intense for Padmé to touch. "Isn't that what you're thinking? That we're meant to be together?"

Padmé sighs. "It's not that simple, Ani," she reminds him. "We both have a duty. Are you prepared for what's ahead?" She doesn't know that he is. He's only nineteen, too focused on the way he feels about her, pretending like the reality of their situation is another galaxy, somewhere far, far away. Someplace warm and green. Someplace with no war.

Anakin frowns. "I'm prepared to face it with you," he promises seriously. He leans across the table they're sitting at and plants a kiss on Padmé's lips. He pulls back just an inch and looks into her eyes. "Aren't you?"

Padmé can't help but smile. "Of course I am," she says.

Whatever they expect, they believe that they can make it through. One day, they will be together, one day they won't have to hide. One day.

Padmé says at the beginning that this could destroy them, and several times it nearly does.

The longer the war goes on, the harder it is for them to be apart. It's not just the perilous missions, and the constant anxiety that they won't see each other again, though that certainly is some of it. But they miss each other. The possibility that every time they say goodbye is the last time they see each other. Their relationship has to be kept a secret. They can't be seen in public together, they can't talk to anyone about their relationship, about their problems. And the longer they are apart the more problems they have when they come back together. Anakin doesn't listen, Padmé doesn't care. They fight, and then Padmé shakes her head and whispers, "I'm sorry, Ani," and he kisses her.

"About what?" he asks, his eyes closed, his hands on her waist.

"I don't want to fight," she promises. Which is true. When they fight it feels like someone has their hand clasped around her neck. "I just missed you."

"I missed you too." And whatever they are fighting about fades away. But not disappear.

They miss each other, and each separation makes it harder to talk to each other. Anakin comes home and then rushes off again. Anakin comes home, but Padmé has to leave, and Anakin tells her it's not fair, and Padmé rounds on him, furious, and bites back, "How do you think I feel, Jedi?" And Anakin doesn't know what to say.

He's supposed to be on meditative retreat, which isn't exactly like leave and more like suspension since he was told to go after some very un-Jedi like behavior came to light in the aftermath of the whole business with Obi-Wan and Rako Hardeen. Anakin is seething, still furious that Obi-Wan could have lied to him, didn't trust him, put him through that. And he's furious, too, that Ahsoka told on him, and that the Council is making him take a step back from the action while they "evaluate" or whatever. He can't help the war effort if he's not allowed to fight in the war. The Jedi, Anakin insists, can't do this. He didn't actually do anything, and it's unfair that they dump all this responsibility on him to save the whole galaxy and then force him to sit on the sidelines.

"Anakin," Padmé sighs. They're trying to sleep, but Anakin is complaining again. "It's not really a punishment. Obi-Wan is being sidelined too. So is Ahsoka." Padmé is relieved that for two weeks, she will know exactly where Anakin is, that he will be there when she comes home from work at the end of the day. He won't be flying recklessly through space or getting shot at. He'll be at home and he can take a second to breathe. That's what this is for after all. To give the Jedi involved a second to collect themselves before hurtling back into a conflict Padmé feels is futile more and more every day. "Besides," she sighs again, rolling onto her side in bed to get a better look at him. "It will be nice. For two weeks it will be the two of us and you won't have to worry about getting called away. Since you're not supposed to be on Coruscant or anywhere near Obi-Wan."

And it is nice for a few days, but the novelty of Anakin at home in a mood soon wears off. He is insistent in his sulking. Nothing Padmé does gets him to snap out of it or talk about it. He wants to sulk and he wants to be angry, and so Padmé is glad for the hours she spends out of the apartment and at work, just to get a break. She feels immensely guilty, but if Anakin wants to spend his leave dissecting everything that Obi-Wan has ever done to betray him, then Padmé can't stop him.

At least he sleeps. For this Padmé is grateful, but she wonders, annoyed, if he could be bothered to pick up after himself between naps.

"Hey," he yawns, as Padmé kicks a dirty sock to the side as she walks through the door. Padmé turns around to face him, her back now towards the overflowing trashcan. Anakin runs a hand through his bedhead and yawns again. Padmé sighs in irritation. He rubs his eyes blearily, but he looks well rested. "What's wrong?" Anakin asks, seeing Padmé's scowl. "Come on, Padmé, what I do this time?" Bitterness laces his tone, though his expression remains neutral, placid.

"Nothing," she says. "You didn't do anything."

Anakin takes a step towards her, imperceptibly angrier than he was a few seconds ago. Except, not to Padmé. She can tell. "Then cut it out with all the sighing," he grunts. "If you're not gonna tell me what I did wrong then don't get mad. I get enough of that shit with the Jedi."

Padmé tries, has been trying for two weeks, for two years, not to let Anakin get a rise out of her when he's looking for a fight. She can tell that he's antsy and still upset about Obi-Wan tricking his death and at the Jedi in general for not trusting him. He's looking to fight, even though he hates it, and he's been cooped up here all day because he's supposed to be on the other side of the galaxy learning to control his temper and getting in touch with the living Force or something. But Padmé has listened to idiot politicians all day, all week, ran around trying to get an audience with the Chancellor while fighting five different bills that all passed through the senate anyway, and the first thing she sees when she gets home is a pile of Anakin's dirty socks and the trash, overflowing.

"Fine!" Padmé snaps. "I asked you to take the trash out today while I was at work, and you left it here! You clearly threw things into it, but it never even occurred to you to take it out. But it's fine. I can do it."

Anakin snarls. "I can do it, Padmé," he growls, pushing her roughly to the side and yanking the trash bag out of the trashcan. "Alright! I just hadn't gotten to it yet."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Padmé says, her voice dripping with venom. "Was your nap so important that you couldn't take out the garbage?" She snatches the bag back from him, and it doesn't even occur to her that instigating a physical fight with the Jedi might be one of the stupidest things she's ever done, right after marrying one.

"That's not fair," he protests, crossing his arms. Padmé is a little irritated that he didn't try to grab the bag back from her. "I'm tired all the time. I spend most of my life getting shot at. I deserve a kriffin' break."

"Then you should have taken one," Padmé says turning her back on him. "You should have gone on your damn meditative retreat like you were supposed to. Then we could pretend that we were happily married."

"I can still go," Anakin says, though it's not really true. He has two days left until he's supposed to be back, and it takes three to get out there. He could go back to the Temple. Maybe he will. Since Padmé clearly doesn't appreciate him. Since Padmé clearly doesn't want him around. He could tell the council he got bored and he remembered something he wanted to go over with Ahsoka. They would be frustrated with him, but they wouldn't tell him to leave. The Temple was his home after all.

"You won't go," Padmé says, almost all the way out the door already. "You would have to pick up after yourself. And Force knows the Chosen One can't be expected to do that!"

Padmé walks out and the doors slicks shut behind her and Anakin is left alone in Padmé's apartment. He lets out a frustrated growl that shakes the dishes in the cabinets and breaks three expensive glasses just as Padmé comes storming back inside. She gives Anakin a longsuffering look and pushes past him to the bedroom. "This whole thing was a mistake," she mutters under her breath. "I married a child." She thinks Anakin can't hear her, or she doesn't care whether or not Anakin can hear her. "We shouldn't have…this was a mistake. I'm sorry," she says. And she goes to her room, where she sleeps alone most nights, because her husband is out fighting in a war that's tearing her apart.

Anakin picks up a shard of glass from the floor and tries to crush it in his durasteel hand. When it does little but scratch his leather glove he grinds it to dust with the Force. He's not sure that Obi-Wan would be proud of that particular skill, but it felt good to let the sand fall through his fingers.

He sighs and tries to ignore the pricking at the corner of his eyes and the anger and grief and frustration seeping through the walls. He tries to close himself off from it, but he can't. Padmé's pain is too much for him to bear, and he doesn't even really know what he did wrong, though he expects shattering glass with the Force is a part of it. He sighs and sinks to the floor, allowing himself a few moments to wallow before he cleans up the mess he made in the kitchen. It is the least he can do. Probably the very least, but he doesn't know what else he _can_ do.

And then he goes to talk to Padmé, but he can tell he's not wanted. He grits his teeth and sits next to her on the bed. He reaches out awkwardly to rub her back and she doesn't push him away like he expects. "Padmé," he sighs. "I'm sorry. I don't…I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry that I hurt you."

It seems like a genuine apology to Padmé. She turns towards him, wiping her facing, trying her best to hide the fact that she had been crying. "I'm sorry too," she admits. "I was out of line. I'm just tired, and I'm frustrated. Not with you, Anakin, just with…with everything."

Anakin sighs and wraps his arms around Padmé's shoulders. "I know the feeling," he sighs.

And their problems fade away into the background, but they don't disappear. Not really.

The first time Anakin sees a river, he is almost ten, on a mission with Obi-Wan, and even though he has been Obi-Wan's Padawan for almost two whole standard weeks, he has never seen so much water in his whole life.

"Where did it come from?" Anakin asks his new master. Obi-Wan looks down at him, frowning.

"Where did what come from?" Obi-Wan wonders, looking back up. They're standing in a crowd, waiting to greet an ambassador from a planet Anakin couldn't remember the name of as an adult.

"The water, Master," Anakin says, still mesmerized by the way it rushes away from him, but never seems to run out.

Obi-Wan is craning his neck over the crowd to try and see the ambassador the Council has sent them to meet. He's tired of Anakin's constant questions and Anakin's constant presence. "I don't know, Anakin," Obi-Wan says distractedly. "It just is."

"Not at home," Anakin says. He wants to dip his toes in it, or dunk his head under it. He's gotten used to the more frequent washing, being able to drink water whenever he wants in the two weeks since he left home, but he's never seen so much water in one place, so much water that never seems to run out.

A little while later, while Obi-Wan is talking with the ambassador, Anakin wanders off, back to the river. Obi-Wan told him not to go far, and Anakin doesn't want to get lost on this planet anyway, but he can't help but think about the river. He finds himself by the riverbank, and without thinking he's stripping off his boots and his socks, and wiggling his toes in the sand. It's not like the sand on Tattooine. It's cool and moist and it doesn't stick to his toes as much as give way underneath their movement. He dips one of his bare toes into the rushing water, and draws it back in shock. The water is cold.

This river is the exact opposite of Tattooine, and now, prepared for the cold, Anakin puts his whole foot in, and then, the other, and pretty soon, he's standing in the middle of the river, the water up to his waist, his hands gliding against the top of the water as it rushes past him. He takes another step, but steps on a rock, and loses his balance. There's water in his mouth and his eyes, and the river is pushing him away from Obi-Wan and the ambassador and he suddenly realizes that he can't swim or even stand up, and that Obi-Wan is never going to find out what happened to him, and his mother will never know that he drowned.

But then a pair of strong arms are around his middle and dragging him out of the current, and he feels air around him instead of water, and then he's back on solid ground his cold, bare feet in the grass, and the grass itches, and Obi-Wan is looking at him, a little panicked.

"Anakin!" he gasps. "Where did you put your boots?"

Anakin doesn't know, because he doesn't know where he is. He's still a little shaken, but he still wants to be in the water. Anakin shakes his head.

Obi-Wan sighs tiredly. "Are you alright?" he asks at last.

"Yes, Master," Anakin says. None of his masters have ever wondered if he was alright before, and even if Obi-Wan doesn't like him, at least he cares about whether he is okay, and not just to work. "I just wanted to swim."

"Well," Obi-Wan humphs. "Then when we get back to the Temple, we'll have to see about that. No more trying to learn on the job, okay?"

So when Padmé teaches Anakin to swim when he is nineteen, it's not the first time Anakin has been in water. In fact, Anakin is a pretty proficient swimmer for someone who hadn't been in the water until he was almost ten. But when Padmé teaches him to swim on his wedding night it is the first time since he was ten that Anakin wanted to swim for fun.

Padmé leads Anakin out by the hand to the lake. They are alone, completely alone, at last. The sun is setting, the horizon is on fire. Padmé is soft and porcelain against the sky. Anakin can't believe that this is happening to him. He would let her lead him right off the edge of the world.

Padmé stops at edge of the water, where it laps against the beach lazily. She laughs and strips out of her robe. She stands before him bare-skinned, shining in the sunset. Anakin is glad for the dim light, because he's sure he's blushing as deep red as the sky. This is your wife, Anakin, he tries to remind himself. But he's too nervous to think of anything but Padmé's breasts.

Padmé isn't blushing. She's staring at him, smiling boldly, and returns to where Anakin is standing, taking his hands. Both of them. Even his brand new prosthetic one. "I know you said you didn't like sand, but…" she leads him by the hands to the very edge of the water. He left his shoes in the house, so they step into the water. It's cool and licks at his feet. It feels good. It feels like Padmé.

She stands on her toes to kiss Anakin, and Anakin feels like a wave of the cool lake water has washed over him when she does. He tries to kiss her back, but her bare chest is warm against his, and Padmé's hands have already started to undress him, and Anakin is trying not to smile through the kiss. Padmé pulls away and Anakin is afraid that he's ruined it, but she's smiling just a broadly as Anakin is.

Without Anakin knowing exactly how it happens he's naked too, and they're up to Anakin's waist in the lake, and Padmé's hair is slicked back, and she looks like she was born from these waters, like some sort of water goddess from the legends Padmé told Anakin about.

"Can you swim?" Padmé wonders, her lips against his. It's dark and cool, and there are goosebumps along Padmé's arms and legs and back. Her wet hair tickles Anakin's shoulders. He's never been so close to someone ever before in his life.

"I –"he stutters. He takes a deep breath, moves a few centimeters away from her face to look into her eyes. "Of course I can swim," he says. "I'm a Jedi."

"Oh, of course," she laughs. "How could I forget?" She swims to the center of the lake, treading water in the moonlight. Anakin paddles out to meet her. His swimming his choppy, and though it's effective, it's not as graceful as Padmé's, not as beautiful. He can barely keep his head above the water, and his toes keep scuffing the bottom, kicking sand this way and that. Anakin reaches out to her reflexively, and accidently splashes her. She shouts out a laugh in surprise, but grabs his hands and presses a kiss to his flesh palm and to his metal one. Shivers run up his arms and down his spine. She clings onto him, and they move into shallower waters, and she lets him drag her back to shore, where they lay on the sand until the morning sun warms their bare bodies, and they dress and go back inside.

The Jedi teach that attachments lead to the dark side, yet they parade Anakin Skywalker around as their Chosen One, even though he is little more than a walking bundle of attachment that has somehow managed to pass itself off as a human. He is attached to his mother, but then she dies in his arms. The Jedi told him not to worry about his mother, that whatever would happen to her was the will of the Force and it was out of his control. When she dies, he confesses to Obi-Wan that the reason he was on Tattooine in the first place was because he couldn't leave his mother's life up to some energy field, even if it did penetrate every aspect of their lives. He tells Obi-Wan that he could feel her life force leave her body, feel the exact moment that she stopped existing in the Living Force. That there was a gaping hole in his heart where his mother used to be, and every breath he takes is ragged with her loss. Obi-Wan tells him that the Jedi do not hold on to those who have transformed into the Force, they celebrate their transformation, and use their passing as a reflection that one day they too will cease to exist.

So Anakin doesn't tell Obi-Wan what he did after his mother died. How he rejoiced at the transformation of the Tuskens who took his mother from him.

But he tells Padmé. Who tells him it's okay to be upset and angry, and then, never brings it up again. But she marries him anyway.

She always tells him it's okay be angry, to be upset. She tells him that if she were him, she would be angry with the Jedi. To tell Anakin that he isn't allowed to form attachments, when he so clearly would have it any other way. To live his life without attachment would be a blessing. It would be freeing. It's why the Jedi teach it. It's easier to maintain balance when there's nothing in the world but Ideals, the Code, and the Force worth dying for. But for Anakin there's people. People worth dying and killing for. Padmé, Obi-Wan, his mother, Ahsoka. His friends in the Order, his Clone Troopers in the 501st. The Jedi, even the Jedi who love almost as fiercely as Anakin don't get it. They trust the Force more than they trust themselves. They can let go.

Anakin can't let go. There's nothing in the world more important to Anakin than the people he loves. For a Jedi, for the Jedi Anakin is supposed to be, duty to the Force must come before anything. He would die for Padmé, and more importantly, he would kill for Padmé. When he says there's nothing he won't do for her, he means it.

One time, he gives her his lightsaber to demonstrate that he's serious, more than serious, about his love for her. That nothing, not his life, not his devotion to the Order, not his innate duty to the Force, is more important to him than she is. She just looks at him, touches his face gently and sighs. "Anakin," she says, but she doesn't say anything else. He would do anything for her. He has done anything for her. One day, he will do everything for her and lose her in the process, but for now, that doesn't matter.

All that matters is Padmé and the way she loves him even though she knows all of his darkest secrets. All that matters is Padmé and her unending devotion to the Republic and democracy and justice. All that matters is Padmé, and Anakin can't let go of that, or else he doesn't think he would be able to fight this war.

All that matters is Padmé. Anakin isn't sure that he exists without her.

* * *

 **A/N: So in my notes this was always going to be the third story I wrote (well, actually I was planning on doing Kanera but plans change), but originally I was going to do it for the word: Joy because today is Gaudete Sunday (or the Pink Candle Week of Advent, the week of rejoicing), because we're supposed to rejoice. This is honestly more fitting for Love, and so I'm just going to move chapters around and pretend I didn't get my weeks mixed up.I'll leave a note on the last chapter also.  
**

 **A/N2: I mean also, I wrote this almost a year and a half ago, and there is actually a lot more of this sitting in a word document, but I am very excited to share anidala with you for the first time. Because. Like. They're the only couple that matters to me.**

 **A/N3: (Also if you're waiting for Sky-Walker, it's coming. I am really almost finished I am just very lazy. Also I feel like I've written everything I wanted to while simultaneously writing nothing. But it's coming. Soon.)**


	3. Mothers

**Week 2: Joy**

 **Which is ironic because I cried the entire way through crying this.**

* * *

 **A/N: If you're thinking! Hey didn't I already read this! You are correct. I just moved the chapter because my initial reaction (see A/N2 at the end) for it to be closer to Christmas was correct and I was supposed to save Joy for the third week of advent, which is today (Gaudete Sunday). Anyway, the whole shape will work better now, and also my weeks are right.**

* * *

Shmi smiles as she dies.

This is something that Anakin will remember forever, though the memory is cloudy and faint with grief, and it makes it harder for him to bear that his mother was happy when she greeted death. Yet still, Shmi smiles as she dies.

It's Anakin's face –the face from her dreams. He looks nothing like he did when she last saw him, but she recognizes him the moment he enters the tent, she knows he's coming the second he enters Tatooine's atmosphere. His hands, larger than hers now, gentle and firm around her wrist, his lips pressed desperately to her hand.

She blinks blearily up at him, at his beautiful face, his short hair still blond and his eyes still gloriously blue. He looks just like he does in her dreams –the ones she's been having since before he was born. She reaches her hand up weakly to touch his face, one last time. Her pain melts away and she can feel Anakin's mind at the edge of hers, purposeful now, unlike when he was young. He's speaking, his voice soft, unsure, tinged with the unfamiliar cadence of the Core Worlds. Shmi can't hear what he's saying, but she's glad that he's here. She wants him to stop crying, wants to take away his pain.

"I am so proud of you," Shmi whispers. Anakin's lip trembles, and with it the Force. She's missed him and the Force. She can only sense it when he's near her. But she doesn't need the Force to tell her that Anakin has done everything the Force has asked him to and more. That he is the most remarkable, most talented young Jedi the galaxy will ever see. Her heart fills with love, and everything but Anakin melts away, her pain a distant memory already. She rejoices, as she dissipates into the Force. "Now I am complete," she whispers. It's for Anakin, so that he knows. He must know. She can't leave him here without him knowing.

"Mom–" Anakin chokes, and Shmi wishes she had more time with him. Her son. Her beautiful, radiant, grown-up son. "Please."

He must know. "I love you," Shmi tells him, smiling. The last thing she sees is Anakin's face. He will cry and grieve, but he must know. Shmi dies happy, her son cradling her in his arms, determined to make the whole world right, to save her. She needs him to know that he doesn't have to –he already has.

* * *

Darth Vader does not have a mother. (There are many things he once had, as another man, which he does not have now –a mother being only one among many. Darth Vader does not have a wife, an apprentice, a family.) It is the price of being a Sith Lord. Most don't bother with Vader's past, assuming he's a droid, a monster, something created out of chaos instead of born and raised –instead of a man. They're not wrong, so he doesn't bother correcting them. And it does him no good to remember her. The brief anger and pain it causes him is not enough to sustain him. The risk of remorse too high.

It does Vader no good to remember his mother, but he cannot forget her.

When he was young, it was all he could do not to think of the moment she died. When he put on the suit, his actions towards the sand people became the moment he recognized himself as Darth Vader. A moment so soaked in rage he can barely remember. The death of each Tusken he killed tasted sweet in the Force, and Vader aches to feel something as wonderful as that bloodshed again.

That memory leaves him bitter and empty now, leads him ultimately back to the moment she died. How empty the galaxy became, how unbearable. Vader remembers how weak and stupid Anakin was, rejoices that he is not that man anymore. Pretends he isn't.

Darth Vader does not have a mother, but he remembers Anakin's mother's funeral, the sand slipping between his fingers futilely. A promise so far away from his grasp. Darth Vader is glad he has no mother. She would surely be disappointed in the disaster of Anakin Skywalker's life, and she had thought so highly of him, thought he would do so much, Vader recalls. (They all did, Vader remembers. If he could still laugh, he would. Anakin couldn't so much as tie his shoes without calling on his master for help. How could _he_ save the galaxy?) A mother would be a distraction, a hindrance. Vader is glad that he does not have a mother.

Darth Vader is very good at pretending. The life of Anakin Skywalker is of no consequence to him. His mother, his master, his apprentice, his wife. None of them mean anything to Vader anymore. He has the Empire convinced, he has the Rebellion convinced. He has those closest to them –even the Emperor himself –convinced. He has convinced himself most surely of all. No whispers of Darth Vader's feelings from the silence of his isolation chamber. And Darth Vader is a much better liar than Anakin Skywalker ever was.

Not long after the Skywalker boy blows up the Death Star, Vader goes to Tatooine to find answers. Kenobi hid him there, with Anakin's step-brother, and Vader never bothered to look, to come back. He resents being here now, the sand in his joints making it hard to walk, the tiniest pit of anxiety forming in his heart that he'll break down completely if he stays here too long.

The homestead Anakin once visited has barely finished smoldering when Vader arrives back on Tatooine. The bodies of the boy's aunt and uncle charred, twisted, and undeniably dead. Vader feels nothing for the people Anakin might have called family, although he buries them alongside Shmi and her husband, and her husband's first wife. All the names except Anakin's mother's escape Vader's memory. The sensors in his hands are nothing like the nerves of flesh, and Vader thinks his time on Tatooine wasted if not sentimental as he traces Shmi's name, carved in basic in sand-stone, with his gloved tech-hand. It does nothing, except to remind him of how weak Anakin was. He loved Shmi so dearly, and yet here she lay, dead as a doornail.

Vader looks back at the remains of the homestead. He does not think of the life Anakin's mother had here, or the life his son had. He cannot think of the life he could have had. He touches Shmi's grave again, does not wish that he could see her again, does not feel the faintest (the tiniest –oh, if Vader would have felt it at all, he could have easily missed it) glimmer of joy when he pictures her face.

* * *

When Anakin dies, the first person he sees is his mother, and at first he is terrified. He is small again, eight or nine, and his mother is taller than he is and very far away. Shmi wasn't Force sensitive in life, Anakin remembers. When he found out what Obi-Wan was doing on Tatooine (communing with the Force, with Qui-Gon, learning the secret to immortal life, all nonsense, the Emperor assured him –Obi-Wan was nothing more than a crazy old man), he knew it was possible. Obi-Wan appeared to him, to Luke, to guide them. Anakin expected Obi-Wan to be the first person he saw in the afterlife; he never expected to see his mother.

It is good to see her, almost unbearably good. And small as he is, he cannot help but throw himself in her arms, the sensation strange, detached, but Shmi is both warm and cool and quiet like he remembers, and she is very calm as she embraces him back. For a moment, Anakin is sure that he is not dead, that he only has more suffering ahead of him, but then Shmi speaks.

"Oh Anakin," she whispers, brushing Anakin's bangs out of his face. Her voice is the same lilting, accented basic that Anakin remembers from his childhood. "Oh I was so scared that you had lost yourself, Ani. I am so happy to see you." Shmi's eyes are warm, and Anakin is safe. He lets himself enjoy the comfort for a moment longer.

When he pulls away he twenty-something. The age he was when he died. And Anakin, too, is happy.

* * *

 **A/N: Little known fact about me is that I love Darth Vader. And yet this is the FIRST time I've ever even tried to do some Vader voice. I've done Anakin to the moon and back and also Vaderkin, but I've never done just straight Vader.**

 **A/N2: Also, the last part I kind of wanted to save for closer to Christmas, because as I was writing this I started thinking about the shape of this as a whole story. When I did my Narnia Calendar last year they were four unconnected stories, but...turns out that's not what's going to happen this year and this last part actually fits in nicely with the final part I had planned to write anyway. But you get it now. The good news: anidala next week. Even more good news: in a few weeks, after I finish Sky-Walker, I will be posting ANOTHER star wars fic, but just a one-shot, which I guess the theme of which should be a secret until I actually start writing it.**


	4. Death

**Week 4: Peace**

* * *

In another timeline, Luke does save his father. In that timeline, Leia scowls in the corner of the room as Vader's new prosthetics are replaced with new models, and he heals under the careful and concerned eye of his son. In that timeline, Luke drags his barely conscious body on board the shuttle and clasps his hands the entire ride to the rebel base, to a real doctor. Luke will not let him take his helmet off, and he feels Luke's presence in the Force, resolute in the light, but resolute also in his decision; he will not let his father die. Luke, untrained though he is, manages something like a healing trance. In that timeline, it is the first time Vader is touched by another living being in over twenty years –his son's hands soft and startlingly cool on his face before the healers get ahold of him.

In that timeline, Vader is put on trial, but the New Republic will not execute him (as a favor to Luke, he knows), and he is visited by Luke, and sometimes Luke and Leia together, and he teaches them what he can about the Force. And then, after ten years, he dies. He has a grandson (Ben, after Obi-Wan; in this timeline, Ben doesn't fall), and though Leia will not let Anakin meet Ben, he loves him nonetheless.

But in this world, Luke cannot save Vader, and the part of Vader that knows he does not deserve to live, and certainly doesn't deserve his son looking at him like he's decided that he will move worlds to keep him from dying, is grateful.

Luke is so much brighter in the Force than Vader can remember anyone else being. The Force settles around him comfortably, shimmers where Luke's body touches it. Vader can feel Luke reaching out, to Vader, to the Force in general, the way Obi-Wan had when he was alive, leaving his worries, his doubt, his fear all up to the Will of the Force. The way Anakin never could.

He's dying anyway. He wants to see Luke without the ghastly tinge of red, would like to see how much he looks like his mother. There's still a protest left hanging in the Force as Luke fumbles with his helmet and looks at the horror that is his father, but it leaves the second Anakin remembers himself. Luke must feel it, the wave of regret that washes over Anakin as the remnants of Vader crumble with his walls. The Emperor is dead, and with it all that Vader stood for. Everyone Anakin once loved is gone –killed by him. The horror of it should be too much, but for the first time in his life –either of his lives, as Anakin or as Vader –he is able to bear it.

It is so overwhelmingly wonderful to have what is left of his senses back, after all these years. Luke his young, his face hardened beyond his years by the war and by the Force. His eyes are clear, bright, and insistently blue. He could be the spitting image of Anakin, if Anakin had made it to twenty-three. The sounds of the second death star are both more muddled and crisper than anything else, a rumble of background noise, the most important sounds clear –the sounds of Luke's voice, cracking with emotion. He can smell his own (and Luke's) flesh and clothes still burning, and it doesn't make his stomach churn as much as he thought it would. It will be the last thing he smells, but it's not accompanied by the same pain as it once was, twenty years before, when he thought the same thing then, too.

There's only a little fear. Death never sat well with Anakin Skywalker, and now he must, finally face it. His own death. He's not sure that he is ready to transform into the Force, he is not sure he is ready to leave, especially since he has just now begun to live again. But he is sure that he does not have a choice.

Luke looks around fearfully. He knows that the Death Star is going to collapse. It's only a matter of time. And Anakin is going to die anyway. Luke will leave. Anakin will not blame him, and though Anakin wants nothing more than for Luke to stay, to find a way to save him, he knows Luke will not. Vader does not deserve for Luke to stay. Does not deserve Luke's love.

Luke's hand is still tight around Vader's. Anakin looks into his eyes.

"I'll not leave you here," Luke insists. Something fiery and familiar behind his eyes. Anakin's vision is starting to cloud, his fear starting to fade. Luke's grip tighten. "I can save you."

There's a nagging memory at the back of Anakin's mind, but he can't quite recall it. It would mean taking his eyes off of his son, and he is determined that Luke will be the last thing he sees. Instead, relief washes over Anakin. He is about to be freed from his suit, from his decomposing, injured body. Soon, there will be nothing but the Force. Soon Vader will be nothing to him but a distant, terrible, memory. The Emperor is dead, Obi-Wan is dead, Padme, his mother. Luke will bring a new generation of Jedi, as soon as he lets go.

Anakin has played his part in the galaxy, and the Force, for the first time in his memory is not quaking in anticipation of something to happen. This is the end of Anakin Skywalker's story. And for the first time, Anakin Skywalker is at peace with this.

He grips Luke's cybernetic hand. Luke is not like him. Luke will never be like him. Luke has saved him, done the impossible. Saved the unsavable, brought a Jedi back from the darkside. Brought Anakin Skywalker peace, balance at last.

* * *

 **A/N: Anyway, you may have some questions. For example: Isn't this two days late, technically? What is this? Did you even proofread this, jeez!? Wait, so Anna, who do you think is the Chosen One? Do you have any thoughts on The Last Jedi?**

 **And to all of those questions, I can only shrug. Anyway, I hope you had a merry Christmas, rest easy in the knowledge that in spite of Star Wars being Anakin's story, Luke is probably the Chosen One after all, and regardless of any problems The Last Jedi had, you enjoyed it all the same.**


End file.
